


Perfect Imperfections

by Stilinski_24



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:23:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5117036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stilinski_24/pseuds/Stilinski_24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't like Stiles Stilinski hated Lydia Martin. He just didn't like her. She was perfect, he was not, and it really, really bothered him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Imperfections

**Author's Note:**

  * For [overcastthursday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/overcastthursday/gifts).



> So this is my first time writing Stydia and writing on Archive of Our Own for that matter. I imagine this taking place sometime in season 3, but I'm not too sure when it would fit, to be perfectly honest. I hope it's alright and that small changes aren't too big of a deal.

Stiles Stilinski has never been one to do things without flaws. The movement of his spastic hands prevented him from writing neatly, his constant need to throw in a sarcastic remark prevented him from having a fairly decent conversation, and his awkward and gangly movement prevented him from mastering certain sports. To wrap it up, Stiles was far from perfect. 

He often strived for perfection, at least he had until the sixth grade when he decided his measly attempts were horrid and he might as well stop in trying to achieve the impossible. He began to accept his clumsy and sarcastic self, but then Lydia Martin had to ruin it. 

Lydia was the definition of what perfection would look like if you could bottle it up in a small girl with strawberry blonde hair. Not blonde, not brunette, not red. No, strawberry blonde was the only term Stiles would accept to explain her hair color. Her eyes were an alert green, aware of every small movement around her that she’d often pretend to miss because she didn’t want anyone to catch onto how clever she really was, or could be. 

It irritated Stiles. She was beautiful and smart, but she kept it hidden. He’d ask himself why. Not just sometimes, but all the time. The thought crossed his mind at least once a day, and he’d rack his brain and bite his pencil in class until something snapped, wether that was his writing tool or his patience. 

But that wasn’t what he disliked. Her beauty was something he could definitely admire for ages if he’d wanted to. He did just that on numerous occasions. And her cleverness and wit could make her quite charming. 

It’s not like Stiles hated Lydia, that word was too strong to use. However, he didn’t like her either. She was too perfect to be real, but she was. The girl was a real and very alive human being with functioning organs and breathtaking features, but her ways of doing everything amazingly and ridiculously well was unnatural and made her inhuman. And Stiles really hated it. It bothered him because no one should be able to do everything well, yet that’s exactly what she was doing. 

This hatred, or whatever you want to call it, quickly made itself known. Stiles had never been good at hiding certain opinions and thoughts (another flaw), which is why Lydia knew that he didn’t really like her. The petite girl had never been able to catch onto why, even if she was smart, but she knew he wasn’t fond of her. Stiles would always throw in a stupid remark after she’d speak, or he’d scoff or laugh bitterly at what she had to say, and if she did something on the board in class, he’d roll his eyes if the teacher praised her. 

Stiles knew he was being a jerk, she didn’t really deserve the treatment he was giving her, but he couldn’t control it. He was jealous. And he’d grown a sense of anxiety over the years in fear of never being good enough, which is why she bothered him so much. Stiles wanted to be like her, he wanted to be good at things, he wanted to not have a constant quick pulse and sweaty hands because he was nervous to do something in case he’d mess it up. 

Another problem was that Stiles had a best friend by the name of Scott McCall, and Scott was with a girl named Allison Argent, who of course had to choose Lydia as her best friend. The four of them were constantly around each other as they fit like a puzzle, with the exception of Lydia and Stiles that were the disastrous pieces that never fit no matter where you put them. 

Anyway, the fact that they were practically forced to be around each other so often meant that they could bicker for ages like a married couple would after forty years of marriage. And they were also perfectly capable of turning everything into a competition, no matter how ridiculous it seemed to be. They playfully fought, and if one of them dared to smile because it was quite amusing, all hell would break loose. 

October 31st had finally rolled around, and Lydia would’ve normally spent it at a Halloween party, drinking and doing barely anything at all, but this year, that wasn’t an option. Allison had arrived at her place when the clock had hit five in the evening, and it was already getting dark when she stepped into the hall. Lydia had given her an exasperated look, wondering what she wanted at the girls place at such an “early” time. 

If she’d known that she’d be dragged to Scott’s house where none other than he and Stiles were waiting, she would’ve locked herself in the bathroom at home and never come out. Scott had a wide smile on his face when she and Allison walked through the door, but then there was Stiles beside him that turned the cheery mood instantly sour. Lydia wanted to roll her eyes and walk back out, but she decided that she wouldn’t let whatever this evening was going to be, be ruined by a boy with messy dark hair and perfectly rounded and brown eyes. 

But only half an hour had passed when she found herself stuck with him alone on the porch in front of Scott’s front door. Multiple pumpkins were set out in front of them on the wooden flooring, knives right next to them, perfectly sharpened. She debated on using them as weapons against Stiles, rather than tools for carving the pumpkins before her, but she decided against it. 

“Scott, I hope you’re fully aware that your plans suck which is why I’m usually the one with the plans.” Stiles yelled through the door, but he wasn’t all too sure that Scott was even listening to his best friend, stuck in the cold with a girl he argued with daily. 

“Your plans suck.” Lydia told him, voice low but sure of herself as she spoke. Stiles narrowed his eyes at her, giving her a disbelieving and frustrated look before he bit his lower lip and looked down at the pumpkins. 

“You know what? No, no they don’t suck. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some pumpkins to carve and guts to throw at you when I’m done. That’s what I call a good plan.” And then he sat down, his legs crossed over each other as he let his eyes scan each pumpkin before he settled on a fairly small one, but it was well shaped and rounded. 

He felt Lydia sit next to him, adjusting her skirt before she opted to sit with her legs beside her. Stiles let out a laugh as he grabbed a knife, and he could hear her curse and mumble something about the boy next to her. 

It really didn’t help either of their moods that it was rainy and cold on top of it all. Multi colored yellow, orange and red leaves passed them in a haste, disappearing with the wind that was not to be seen by the naked eye. One got stuck on Stiles’ pumpkin, and he huffed and removed it before cutting the top half open to create a lid. 

“Why would they do this? Getting my hands dirty like this is not how I wanna spend Halloween.” He could hear Lydia clearly, but he decided not to comment on her frustration quite yet. Stiles could still do that in five minutes. Instead, he stopped his own work of carving a triangular eye to watch in amazement at how Lydia actually struggled. 

The Lydia Martin, little miss perfect, the girl that never did anything flawed, was actually doing an awful job at carving a pumpkin. She struggled to get the knife through, to cut it neatly, and Stiles was so shocked that he could barely continue his own work. His work that actually looked better than something she had done. 

He’d finally found something she couldn’t do, that he excelled in. 

But Stiles’ joy was short lived when she tugged a little too hard, and suddenly she found herself with a cut along her left palm, blood flowing to the surface at a rapid pace. They both froze for a few seconds, processing what had just happened in their minds before Lydia disappeared inside. Scott seemed to have unlocked the door whilst they were busy in the rain, and now Stiles sat there, alone. 

However, it wasn’t long before he snapped out of his daze and went to follow the strawberry blonde, a strange panic going through him as worry took over. They might not get along, but of course he’d still care if she got injured, and that’s what she currently was. She was hurt, and Stiles couldn’t help his palms from sweating as his heart raced out of fear. 

Lydia had locked herself in the bathroom, and Stiles was quiet when he knocked, almost inaudible if the rest of the house hadn’t been so silent. He couldn’t hear anything, and the silence had never bothered him more than in that moment. 

“Lydia?” He called, his voice careful and hesitant, as if he didn’t dare to speak her name. 

“Go away.” Stiles heard her say back, her voice hoarse but still soft, and his heart seemed to have missed a beat. 

“Let me help you.” The boy could hear her laugh, but it was bitter and spiteful, and it told him very clearly that she wanted nothing to do with him then.

“This is something I can actually do, Stiles.” Hearing her words stung him, more than he wanted to admit because this was the girl he wasn’t supposed to be fond of. Lydia was the girl he was jealous of, not the girl he found beautiful enough to want to be his. 

“Where the hell did that come from?” He asked himself, mumbling quietly before he knocked again, harsher against the dark wood before he spoke. 

“I’m well aware, Lyds. But I want to help. I need to so that I’ll finally feel like I can maybe do something right. Usually you’re the one to save my ass.” Stiles told her through the door, his choice in words maybe poor but true as he rested his arm against the doorframe, leaning against it. His words seemed to have worked as the door slowly opened, and her head peaked out as she bit her lip. The boy pushed himself through the narrow opening, going inside only to see a few droplets of blood in the sink, and her hand was wrapped in a small towel she’d gotten from one of the shelves. 

He begun to help her in silence, washing the cut and putting pressure on it so that the bleeding would stop. At one point he wanted to suggest stitches, but he didn’t think the Lydia Martin would agree to that. Especially on Halloween. So he only cleaned the wound with disinfectant, his hands lingering on her small one as the touch caused a shiver to run down his already cold spine due to the weather. 

Stiles felt himself blush, but he shook his head quickly to shake off the feeling that he couldn’t recognize and name correctly. Lydia eventually pulled her hand away, inspecting the wound in meticulous detail before she let her lips form a pout and then a smile. 

“Guess there is something you can do.” He smiled at her, his eyes gleaming at being praised for his work, and his fear of failure momentarily went away as she looked into his eyes. And for a brief moment they forgot that they weren’t supposed to like each other, that they were supposed to be bickering and spitting out remarks whenever they had the chance. 

But not in that split second. In that moment, they couldn’t really think about what the past had been for them. They were in the now, as stupid as it sounded, and so neither questioned it when their lips suddenly met. 

It wasn’t the best of kisses, their movement uncoordinated as he held her waist loosely, but it didn’t matter. It may’ve not been a passionate kiss that was perfect the whole way through, but it was their kiss. 

And in that moment, Stiles finally realized that perfection wasn’t needed for something to still be pretty damn great. He was flawed. He was human. He was Stiles Stilinski. The boy with the need to move all the time, his hands an uncontrollable mess, his sarcasm grown to him, his limbs clumsy. But that was all okay, it no longer mattered. 

In that moment, he could no longer dislike Lydia Martin. In a mere second, hate had gone to adoration. He adored her. Stiles no longer wanted to be like her, what he had seen to be so perfect. He wanted to be with her, to call her his because he desired her. Stiles wanted her. 

When they pulled away, a smile fell on his face as he leaned his forehead against hers, and a laugh erupted from his lips as he kept a hold of her. She smiled back at him, bringing her hands into his as she blushed. He wasn’t sure on what he should say, he felt like it would all sound stupid and imperfect. 

“We’re not done with the pumpkins.” Lydia stated, her voice a hushed whisper before she began to walk out of the bathroom, into the hall and back outside into the pouring rain. Stiles stood there dumbfounded, but he eventually followed her like a lost puppy, both of them sitting down on the porch once more, happier than before. 

“W-why don’t we do one together? I can s-show you?” He stuttered, unsure of what he was suggesting. But the smile she gave him told him that she didn’t mind, and when she reached for a brand new pumpkin, the smile on his own face grew wide. 

“Alright, teach me.” And he did. They got to work on the lid, his hand over hers as he guided their movement, but she did most of it herself. Stiles was proud of himself in that moment, being able to do something with Lydia together like this wasn’t anything he’d ever imagined happening before, but now that it had, he loved it. It was all so simple, the way they sat there as it poured from the clouds, the darkness making it harder to see as the porch light didn’t provide much for their vision. 

But that was all okay. 

Perfection may not exist, not even in the beautiful Lydia Martin, but Stiles knew that if anything would come close to it, it would be the two of them carving a pumpkin together on Halloween.


End file.
